Fire And Ice (Book 1) (61 page)

             
“Then how do you get in touch with him?” Coran pressed.  He was going to get what he wanted here.  “And do not lie to me again.”

             
Naras could see he was set on this subject.  “There is a tavern in Northwatch called Irne’s Tavern.  Irne is the one who can tell you where he is.”              

             
“Much better Naras.”  He turned to look at the men still drinking.  What was it they called the big man?  “Lemm!” he called, and the large man shuffled over obediently.  “Is there a guard station in town?”

             
“Yes, Sir,” Lemm answered respectfully.

             
“Do they have a cell for prisoners?”

             
“Yes.”

             
“Good.  Would you and some of your friends escort these two there, and tell the guards why he is to be held.  Also tell them that he is to be kept there until they can transfer them to Summerhall.” 

             
“Yes, My Lord.”  He called to some of his buddies who came over to help.  Naras and his companion were lifted roughly and half carried out the door of the tavern.  Naras was lifted, the other one was so big they could only drag him along with them. 

             
No one came over to bother them as they stayed seated for a time.  Devon was the one to break the silence.  “Do you think he was telling the truth?  About knowing who the spy is?”

             
“No,” Coran replied, he was convinced that he was right.  “But he would not tell us no matter what we did.”

             
Devon’s confusion was clear in his voice.  “He was scared enough when you had your knife to him.  I think he would have told us anything if you had pushed him far enough.  Maybe you should let me at him for a time.  I know how you can be squeamish about torture and all that.  Fortunately I don’t have such qualms.”

             
“That is not it,” Coran disagreed.  “Naras is not what he pretends to be.”  A mere hireling?  Naras was not a mere anything.  He was a very dangerous man.  “It was his eyes.  They  never changed no matter how he acted.  He told us what we already knew, and did it without giving away too much.”

             
“And the part about Irne?”

             
“That I think was truth.  He had to give us something and he knew it, or we might be following your suggestion right now.”

             
“If he is afraid of torture maybe we should try,” Devon suggested.

             
“Not afraid.  He does not want to die unless he has to, and if we threaten too much he will have to.”  He was pretty sure of his assessment of Naras.  The eyes rarely lie.  “He is more afraid of betraying Elthzidor than dying.” 

             
“So what now?  Do we continue on the way we were going?”

             
“Yes.  At least to Northwatch,” Coran decided.  

             
“You have that look again,” Devon sighed.  “What are you going to get us into this time?  I thought we had a mission?”

             
“We do, but a slight stop over in Northwatch will not hurt.”  His thoughts were racing with what Naras had said about Irne and Gorod.  There had to be something he could do to stop the bloodshed that was sure to come.

              After Devon got his mug of ale they left the Fisherman’s Rest and continued north.  They crossed the Drenn river by way of a stone bridge about a league north of the town.  The light snow still drifted lazily to the already white covered ground.   The scene they passed through was almost unreal in its serenity and beauty.

             
Coran had no illusions about Naras being held for long.  He had powerful friends after all.   Coran couldn’t have taken the two of them along, not and watch them every minute, and Coran couldn’t just kill them in cold blood, but he had been tempted.   His hope was that Naras would be held long enough that he wouldn’t be able to report Coran’s location to his enemies.  He hoped for a lot of things. 

Chapter 31

A Glimpse of the Future

              The massed army moved at a crawl across the low hills sparsely covered with trees devoid of their leaves.  The sky had been threatening to rain or snow, depending on the fluctuating temperature, for several days now.  The slow pace rankled at Elthzidor who rode a mount colored gray and black. 

             
Behind him came the men who called themselves the Bloodriders.  They wore an armor of overlapping scales of iron and bore swords that were long, and slightly curved at their hips.  In their right hand they held lances upright.  Red tassels swung from the shafts just below the long pointed blades.  In their left they sported light wooden shields painted red.  Their helmets were wide rimmed and colored in black and red along the sides.  The Bloodriders were the best of the Makkurans, a cavalry force that should rival the fabled Knights of Soros.  At least that was the idea.  In the past the Knights were known for their legendary skill in battle.  It was a problem that the Bloodriders were created to deal with.  Only time would tell if they could. 

             
After the Bloodriders came the Orgog that were most of those he had brought with him.  They shambled awkwardly like the giant, walking corpses they appeared to be.  Some of the Orgog were flying ahead to scout the way and a couple more were running messages.  After them came the Midalians with their long swords and heavy round shields, and the Karians with their pot shaped helmets and short spears.  Bringing up the rear were the Karandi in their multitudes.  Patrolling the outside of the columns rode more of the Bloodriders and some of the regular cavalry.  They fought off the pitiful attacks launched at the flanks of the army by Cranus and his men. 

             
So far the news from his agents in the West was mixed.  Grendin was aflame like planned, and along the northern border tempers were about to bring another war into existence.  Torvilin had kept his part of the bargain and led half the Voltians away from the fighting.  Cranus going on the offensive was unfortunate, but not a real threat.  Actually it was somewhat beneficial since it kept the minds of his men focused.  Torvilin was also keeping Holdon from an easy access to the south. 

             
Lord Meneroe had been a late recruit and Elthzidor was not convinced the man could be any real help.  Meneroe was too unpredictable.  It fit in with what Naras was supposed to do, and that was to create chaos.  They had lost contact with Naras and that was the worst news.  With the number of contacts he had made in the West, Naras had been the key to the success experienced so far.  When the Orgog sent to meet with him had returned without a reply, he knew something was wrong.  Selisk was dispatched to find him.  She could act more prudently than the Orgog.  It also kept her away from the other Maji and whatever it was she was planning.

             
“My Lord,” a man with a golden plume hanging from his helm called to him.  “You wanted to know when the Voltians were attacking again.”

             
“So I did.  Take a sufficient force and destroy them.  I am tired of these insect bites on my host.  Cranus needs a lesson.”  Elthzidor stared ahead at the gray horizon.  As beneficial as having Cranus around was, it was time to deal with him before anyone took to mind that the great Ra Majin couldn’t.  Timing was everything.  “And, General?”

             
“My Lord?” the General responded.

             
“When the secondary force arrives from T’Loth have them destroy Volton.”  That should teach these Voltians not to fight him.  He couldn’t have them rising up in opposition to bite at his heels.  Elthzidor turned to look at his Orgog.  “Take ten of them with you.”

             
The General rode away to carry out his orders.  Leveling the Voltian capitol would also send a message to Torvilin.  He should have found a way to keep the rest of the army away as well.              

             
“Elthzidor!” a man called as he rode up beside the Ra Majin.  He was of average height, slightly stocky in build, and he was naturally bald.  “I do not mean to question your orders, but should we not garrison Volton instead of destroying it?  It would be a good defense against any incursions from Holdon, and is the key to the Sone River.”

             
“Very good points Majin Kere,” agreed Elthzidor, emphasizing the title, and Kere’s lack of one when addressing him.  He knew that Kere was next in line to pick up the sword with Anaaris away.  Lucky for him that he had refused the advances of the scheming Selisk.  The two of them together would have been something to worry about, but alone they were merely an annoyance, much like Cranus.  “But I feel the lesson learned will outweigh any good the city might do me.”  Besides, he knew what his Master’s plans were for the cities of the West.  There was a reason he was called the Destroyer.

             
“As you wish, Ra Majin,” Kere acquiesced.

             
“By the way, do you happen to know if Cranus’ wizard is still alive?”

             
“I believe so.  Do you still want her taken alive?”

             
“If possible, but I do not wish to risk any of the Maji in doing so,” Elthzidor ordered.  To capture one of these Western wizards might give him more knowledge of Herrinhall, and the wizards who had been trained there, which was almost all of them.  So far that was the one area where Naras could find nothing except for a few names.

             
“I will see to it.”  Kere inclined his head before reining in his mount and heading back down the column.

             
From what information he did have there were about a dozen wizards in all of Midia and the North who were strong enough to cause him concern, and maybe twice that number who had the potential.  The Western Karands had maybe three really powerful wizards.  The Eastern  Karands had just five.  Four now, one had been killed in Lornth.  The Maji traditionally numbered twenty in all, but were only nineteen after the loss of Jeshon.  Of course, not all had come over from Makkura.  Order needed to be maintained in the Eastern lands.  That did not include the hundreds of Ni-Maji, many of whom had the skills to replace those he lost.  Each one was still a valuable commodity.  His information on the wizard’s level of power was even less.  He needed to preserve his Maji until he knew for sure what they faced.  He did not fear for himself, but the Master had given him command and he did not want to make any mistakes that could be avoided.

              Cranus reined in his horse on the hilltop in a copse of leafless oaks.  Their branches reached out towards them like the arms of those monsters descending from the sky.  He stopped because there were more of those strangely dressed Makkurans ahead of them.  What was left of his cavalry halted with him and looked upon their doom in the valley below.  More of the enemy were closing from the rear. 

             
He had been making slashing attacks at the invaders for days now after waiting for his son at Carrington in vain.  His hope was that Torvilin was dead somehow since the alternative was difficult for him to bear.  That his son could have betrayed his family and the people of Voltia twisted his insides until he was ready to welcome death from the shame.  Seeing the force ahead and behind, he regretted not being able to kill the man he had once called his son before he died.

             
He looked around the hill at the few hundred left of his four thousand.

             
“Where is Aimeil?” he asked.  The wizard who had advised him for so long had fought bravely.  She was especially effective against those flying monsters. 

             
“I saw her fall during the retreat,” someone answered.

             
So Aimeil was dead, and he was about to join her.

             
Cranus raised his sword and his men did as well.  His armor was dented in several places and his helmet had been lost somewhere, at sometime.  Screeching cries came from the circling beasts up in the sky.

             
“For Voltia!” he bellowed and it was echoed by the hundreds with him.  He spurred his horse into one last charge.  His last thought was of Voltia and what would become of it after he was gone.  Maybe his sacrifice would return some honor to his land in the eyes of the other Midians.  He now knew why his missives to Summerhall had been unanswered.  Torvilin.  Cranus was sure that Summerhall would believe he had betrayed them.  His only chance to change that was with his death. 
At least my family will be safe.

              Katelyn dropped the cloak into one of the empty chairs around the table and took the one at the head for herself.  It was odd that she automatically thought of that chair as hers now.  She felt a sudden stab of guilt, and pain. 

             
She wore the pants and blue shirt since she had been out to the camps where her army was gathering.  Lords were coming from across the Plain with their armsmen.  Some had reached them from as far as Westland as well, and in a few days they would start the trek west where a larger camp would be set up outside of Stockton.  Seeing the steady stream of soldiers pass in and out of Summerhall brought the reality of what they had been planning to the front of her thoughts.  Instead of numbers on a map, she saw the faces of those who would be doing the actual fighting and couldn’t help wonder how many would not survive the battles that would surely come.  All the lessons in ruling, all the knowledge collected over the years by the finest education, could not prepare her for the realities of war.  That was something only experience could teach her, and she was loathe to learn the lesson.

             
The word had come to them several days ago of the invasion of Voltia.  All these months they had no real proof of the coming invasion, nothing tangible that said ‘here it is’.  That was no longer true.  The orders were sent out immediately for the armies of the West to gather.  Roland had sent some advanced units to aid Taragon in their defense of the north of their country.  Since they believed the invasion was aimed at Summerhall, and had no evidence to contradict that fact, Taragon was evacuating the south of noncombatants.  In fact, the plan was to abandon the south altogether, making their stand at the Blood. 

             
Roland was gone, he was overseeing the defenses and the building of the camp at Stockton.  Oran already sat in the chair to her left reading some letters he held.  Martin followed her into the room and took a seat as well.  The Knights had taken over the duty of guarding her permanently and Martin seemed to be around more than ever.

             
“Where is Gelarus?” she asked the Lord of Tyelin.  She specifically asked the old wizard to be here.  He was one she hardly saw at all lately.  She was beginning to understand her father’s frustration with the man.

             
Margery entered the room and took a seat next to Martin on the right side of the table.

             
“He assured me he would be here,” Oran replied.  “I was wondering something?”

             
“Yes,” she said absently.  What could be keeping him?

             
“The Tyelin guard has arrived,” he said and went silent.

             
She was brought out of her thoughts, knowing what was to come next.  “How many are there?”              

             
“Six hundred armsmen and another thousand volunteers.  Men from the mountains mostly.  They are very good in a fight,” he commented evenly.  “It is strange that Coran is not with them.”

             
“Oh.  Was he held up at Tyelin?” she said innocently and knew as soon as she said it how it sounded.  No one was going to believe it.  From the questioning looks of her sister she was right.  Martin did not seem to hear what they were talking about.  As a soldier he was very good at hearing only what he was supposed to hear.  This dealt with his Queen’s personal business and that he did not need to hear.  His concern was with the Knights and her safety, nothing more.

             
Oran ignored her statement and got right to the point.  “Where is he?”

             
She looked around the table.  “I knew it would not last, but I must ask you all to keep this to yourselves.”  They all nodded quickly.  “Coran and Devon are on their way to Herrinhall.”

             
“I see,” Oran said simply.  “I understand the need for secrecy.”

             
“You do not approve?”

             
“On the contrary.  I think it is a bold plan that might prove our salvation.  I take it you sent him to get support from the Northmen?”

             
She nodded to him. 

             
“Then I approve, and applaud your precaution.  The fewer who know the better,” Oran stated.

             
“Then we can move on,” she said, unsure how to take Oran’s surprisingly reasonable attitude.                

             
The door opened to admit the tall, white haired wizard of Summerhall.  Gelarus stomped around the table to stand by Oran’s shoulder.  “I am here as requested,” he announced himself, not sounding very happy about it.